Jingo

It was when Vimes stood back to admire his handiwork that he saw the glow in the sky over Park Lane, almost at the same time as he heard the clatter of iron boots on the street.

“Oh, hello, Littlebottom,” he said. “What now? Don't tell me — someone's set fire to the Klatchian embassy.”

“All right, sir,” said the dwarf. She stood uncertainly in the middle of the alley, looking worried.

“Well?” said Vimes.

“Er… you said—”

With a sinking feeling Vimes remembered that the generic dwarfish skill with iron was matched only by the fumble-fingered grasp of irony.

“The Klatchian embassy is really on fire?”

“Yes, sir!”

Mrs Spent opened the door a crack.

“Yes?”

“I'm a friend of…” Carrot hesitated, wondering if Fred would have given his real name. “Er… big fat man, suit doesn't fit—”

“The one who goes around with the sex maniac?”

“Pardon?”

“Skinny little twerp, dresses like a clown?”

“They said you'd have a room,” said Carrot desperately.

“They've got it,” said Mrs Spent, trying to shut the door.

“They said I could use it—”

“No sub-lettin'!”

“They said I should pay you two dollars!”

The pressure of the door was released a little.

“On top of what they paid?” said Mrs Spent.

“Of course.”

“Well…” She looked Carrot up and down and sniffed. “All right. What shift are you on?”

“Sorry?”

“You're a watchman, right?”

“Er…” Carrot hesitated, and then raised his voice. “No, I am not a watchman. Haha, you think I'm a watchman? Do I look like a watchman?”

“Yes, you do,” said Mrs Spent. “You're Captain Carrot. I seen you walking about the town. Still, I suppose even coppers have to sleep somewhere.”

On the roof, Angua rolled her eyes.

“No wimmin, no cookin', no music, no pets,” said Mrs Spent, as she led the way up the creaking stairs.

Angua waited in the dark until she heard the window open.

“She's gone,” Carrot hissed.

“There's glass on the tiles out here, just like Fred reported,” said Angua, as she swung herself over the sill. Inside the room she took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

First she had to forget the smell of Carrot — anxious sweat, soap, the lingering hints of armour polish…

…and Fred Colon, all perspiration with a hint of beer, and then the odd ointment Nobby used for his skin condition, and the smells of feet, bodies, clothes, polish, fingernails…

After an hour it was possible for the eye of the nose to see someone walk across the room, frozen in time by their smell. But after a day smells criss-crossed and entangled. You had to take them apart, remove the familiar pieces, and what you had left.

“They're so mixed up!”

“All right, all right,” said Carrot soothingly.

“At least three people! But I think one of them is Ossie… It's stronger round the bed… and…”

She opened her eyes wide and looked down at the floor. “Somewhere here!”

“What? What is?”

Angua crouched down with her nose just above the floorboards.

“I can smell it but I can't see it!”

A knife appeared in front of her. Carrot got down on his knees and ran the blade along the dust-filled crack between the floorboards.

Something splintery and brown popped up. It had been trodden on and rolled underfoot, but at this distance even Carrot could pick up traces of the clove smell. “Do you think Ossie made a lot of apple pies?” he whispered.

“No cookin', remember?” said Angua, and grinned.

“There's something else…”

Carrot levered out more dirt and dust. In it, something glittered. “Fred said all the glass was outside, didn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, supposing we assume that someone didn't pick up all the bits when they broke in?”

“For someone that doesn't like lying, Carrot, you can be quite devious, you know?”

“Just logical. There's glass outside the window, but all that means is that there is glass outside the window. Commander Vimes always says there're no such things as clues. It's how you look at them.”

“You think someone broke in and then carefully put the glass outside?”

“Could be.”

“Carrot? Why are we whispering?”

“No wimmin, remember?”

“And no pets,” said Angua. “So she's got me coming and going. Don't look like that,” she added, when she saw his face. “It's only bad taste if someone else says it. I'm allowed.”

Carrot scratched up some more glass fragments. Angua looked under the bed and pulled out the battered magazines.

“Ye gods, do people really read this stuff?” she said, flicking through Bows and Ammo. “‘Testing the Locksley Reflex 7: A Whole Lotta Bow’…^{44} ‘Footsore! We test the Ten Best Caltrops!’… and what's this magazine…? Warrior of Fortune?”

“There's always little wars somewhere,” said Carrot, pulling out the box of money.

“But will you look at the size of this axe here? ‘Get A Head, Get A Burleigh and Stronginthearm “Streetsweeper” and Win By A Neck!’ Well, it must be true what they say about men who like big weapons…”

“And that is?” said carrot, lifting the lid of the box.

She looked at the top of his head. As always, Carrot radiated innocence like a small sun. But he'd… They'd… Surely he…

“They, er… they're rather small,” she said.

“Oh, that's true,” said Carrot, picking up some of the Klatchian coins. “Look at dwarfs. Never happier than with a chopper the same size as them. And Nobby's fascinated by weapons and he's practically dwarf-sized.”

“Er…”

Technically, Angua was sure she knew Carrot better than anyone else. She was pretty sure he cared a lot for her. He seldom said so, he just assumed that she knew. She'd known other men, although turning into a wolf for part of the month was one of those little flaws that could put any normal man off and, up until Carrot, always had. And she knew the sort of things men said in what might be called the heat of the moment and then forgot. But when Carrot said things, you knew that he felt that everything was now settled until further notice, so if she made any comment he'd be genuinely surprised that she'd forgotten what it was he had said and